


Too Loved, Too Late

by Fortylinestare



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Angst, Death is only the beginning, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Provost's Dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortylinestare/pseuds/Fortylinestare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beka has always known that death was her life. Speaking to the souls of the departed and seeking justice feels as natural as breathing, until the day death comes to her own doorstep and shatters her. Now she finds herself torn between the land of the living and the dead, forced to choose between justice and revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This chapter contains major character death and potentially *spoilers* for those who haven't yet read Mastiff.

“Rosto the Piper, I arrest you in the King’s name.” 

He looked up in the sudden silence that followed, eyes drawn across the crowded room. There she was, his Beka. 

As usual when she was in uniform, she stood with legs braced, hands poised above her weapons belt. It was the classic dog stance, designed to instill fear and loathing in their foes. It had the opposite effect on him. 

His eyes took in pale skin, sharp cheekbones and dark blonde hair. He could see that she wore arm guards and cudgel, and made note of the dint in her braid that betrayed the wicked spikes woven there. She was as beautiful as the roses in the gardens of the palace, and twice as treacherous to touch. 

He allowed himself a moment of admiration before irritation swept in. What was she thinking, coming here like this? He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. There she was, standing calmly in the doorway, a one-woman army come to overthrow his castle. It was so like her, to think she could just storm into his court and hobble the king. 

He made a mental note to tell the others about this at breakfast. They’d been careful, so careful, not to let their livings come between them. They’d kept their work and their friendships separate, knowing how much was at stake if they failed. And now she’d gone and done something so stupid? 

He could picture Ersken’s puppy-dog hurt, Aniki’s cold disapproval. He knew that even Tansy, for all she was outside their world of dogs and rushers, would have some sharp words for her oldest friend. 

But this wasn’t breakfast and they weren’t themselves. Whatever would come tomorrow, here, they were law and legend, crown and thief. Swallowing his exasperation, he smiled the heavy smile of a Rogue to a Dog, wry eyes inviting his rats to do the same. 

“Tell me, Terrier, how exactly do you plan to take me here?” 

It was as he spoke that he saw it. The grim set of her jaw, the strain in her eyes. Something was wrong. This was no grand gesture, no game of wits. 

Beka had been crying. 

Rough hands trembled as she brought her baton up into the rest position. 

“I will take you, if I have to crack every sarden nob in this place.” 

His mind raced as he fought to appear in control. He wanted to go to her, to hold her, but he stayed as he was, lounging on his throne. His rushers wouldn’t exactly approve of a Rogue comforting a dog and besides, she didn’t look like she’d take kindly to his touch just now. 

“Just what is it that I’m supposed to have done?” He meant it to sound knowing and amused. He wanted his people to think he knew exactly what he’d done to vex a dog. 

“Don’t give me that scummer. You know. You –“ Her voice cracked and, for the first time, his courtiers realized that this was no ordinary faceoff. 

His heart wrenched as he watched her struggle to get herself under control. He wanted to find whoever it was had hurt her, wanted to crush whoever had dared go after one of his own, but, curse it, he couldn’t even ask her what was wrong. 

Her voice, when she spoke, was husky, and her words cut deep. “How could you?” 

It was Aniki, always fair, who saved him. “What happened, Beka?” 

Grey eyes, shot with blood and steel, met familiar blue ones and relented. 

“He’s dead. My - Farmer… He’s dead.” 

For a single, fatal second, he felt joy, then hated himself for it. As sorrow for her took its place, he knew her watchful eyes had seen his hope, and he knew it had doomed him. “I swear to you, I had no hand in it.” 

“Liar.” She spat the word, hatred in every line of her body. 

“I’ll find them. I’ll find whoever did this.” 

“You did this. And now you’ll pay the King’s justice. My justice.” 

He forced himself to crack a grin, sardonic and apologetic, spreading his hands in a gesture of appeasement. 

“Why don’t we discuss this in private? I’m sure we can come to some sort of… understanding.” 

Some of his rats chuckled, but it was half-hearted. They could feel the tension here as easily as he, and some were beginning to edge out of the room. Nobody wanted to be near when dogs and rats warred. 

As he spoke he could feel Aniki’s glare boring into him, willing him to be kind, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of meeting it. He knew she had liked Farmer, with his easy smile and his magic trifles. He had brought the best breakfasts and been kind to animals, and with her that counted. But this was his court, and he had to stay in control, contain the situation. 

She held her ground, ghost eyes haunted. “No. No talking, no understandings. You can’t undo this, or talk me out of it. You’re coming with me to the kennel.” 

Something in his eyes changed as he realised what this meant, what she was saying. Usually he was a man of a thousand thoughts and plans, always watching, calculating the next move, the next angle. But as she spoke, his world narrowed until there was only her, only him, only this new knowledge, and the pain it brought. 

She couldn’t take him – not really. They both knew that. It was that knowledge that told him why she was really there. 

“You’ve come to kill me.” 

She gave no answer, but her silence told him everything. 

His words came softly, before he even realised what they were, before he knew that they were true. “I won’t fight you, Beka.” 

She frowned. “You’d let me take you in?” 

“No. I couldn’t allow that. Not here.” 

“Then what?” 

His voice was calm, as though they discussed the news over breakfast. “You cannot take me, so if you want to kill me, you’ll have to do it in cold blood. I won’t fight back. You’ve been hurt enough already.” 

“By you.” She spat the words. 

He sat up and forward, never breaking away from her gaze. “No, Beka. I told you, that was never my people, and it was not on my orders. Stand down and I will help you nab this cracknob.” 

Somewhere on the edge of his awareness he heard rushers gasping and swearing. It wasn’t right, he knew, for their King to address a dog by first name in court, or to offer to help them take in one of his own. And not just any dog, but the King’s Mastiff. He was sitting in the throne, signing his own death warrant. 

Right now he didn’t care. His throne was forfeit, but his life and his Beka might still be salvaged. Slowly he stood and walked across the hall to where she stood, weapon at the ready. He didn’t stop until they were toe to toe. 

“Here I am. What are you going to do?” 

Now that he was closer, he could see that her lips were pressed into a hard, white line, and she was shaking with barely restrained rage and grief. 

Instinctively, he reached out a hand to stroke her face. He needed to touch her, comfort her, make it all alright. 

She struck him then. Sharp pain cut across his cheekbone as baton met bone and he clasped his palm to his face, eyes never leaving hers. 

His people rushed forward, ready and willing to fight for him, but he put out a hand to stop them, seeing dark blood drip to the stones below. 

He swallowed, met her gaze and held open his arms, offering himself to her as a target. 

Again she struck, this time hard across the mouth. He staggered, but didn’t fall. Anger mounted within her as he twisted to face her again. 

“Damn you, Rosto! Fight back!” 

His words when he spoke were slurred, spoken through rapidly swelling split lips. One eye showed signs of going black and his cheekbone was still bleeding, but he didn’t break her gaze. 

“I could no more hurt you than you could him.” 

Her face broke, the hard control falling apart as grief burst through. 

“Is that why you took him? Because you wanted me? Is that why you had him killed?” 

“Beka, I didn’t –” 

“Don’t lie to me!” She punctuated the words with another blow. This time it was the collarbone. 

“You took him from me!” Gut. 

“You stabbed him,” kneecap, “and left him in the gutter to rot.” Kidney. 

Through throbbing eyes and spinning vision, he could see Aniki drawing her sword. He reached out a hand to her and shook his head, no. This was his choice. 

As he halted Aniki, Beka bore down with her baton and shattered his forearm. Now he could only hope she wouldn’t interfere again. If she tried, he wouldn’t be able to stop her, and he didn’t know which of them would survive. 

She dropped her baton and began to rain down blows on his head and chest. Though her fists were not as hard as wood, they were still strong and unforgiving. Somehow her bare hands hurt him worse than any weapon. 

“Why couldn’t you have chased some other mot?” She was frenzied now, lost in her madness. 

“There were plenty sweet on you in this sarden bordel and I never led you on. Why did you have to go after me?” 

“Because I –” She couldn’t hear it, didn’t want to. Another sharp blow across the face cut him off. 

Her hands found his neck, and suddenly it was too easy for her to squeeze. “Why couldn’t you let me go, Rosto?” She was sobbing now, wrists cramping and arms shaking. “You stupid looby, why did you have to love me?” 

Through her tears she saw his gaze, clear and steady, and the words written there. She squeezed harder. 

“No!” His eyes slid shut, but her grip stayed locked around his neck long after he was gone. 

Slowly she released him and let him slump to the floor. Sobbing, she knelt and shook him back and forth as though to wake him, knowing he was gone, knowing she had to tell him one last thing. 

“Rosto.” She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, though she could barely see through her tears. 

“Rosto, I chose him.”


	2. Chapter 2

Again she released him, then staggered to her feet. Those around her backed away as she took a shaking step forward, terrified by her blood spattered face, staring grey eyes and the sudden, inescapable knowledge of what she had done. 

She walked through the court without seeing, without knowing, lost in the torrent of emotions inside her. Nobody tried to stop her. 

Somehow she found herself on Stormwing street and then suddenly Hasfush was holding her, his spinning breezes caressing and soothing. He drew her sorrow into him, as she had done for him so many times before. Layer by layer he peeled away her pain, until there was only one thing left within her, one urgent, pressing need. 

She didn’t know how long she stood there, maybe hours. It was dark by the time he released her into the street, feeling oddly light and hollow. She looked back to see that he had become a tall, dark tower of wind and dirt. He had stripped away her madness, her grief and rage. He had taken them, just for a while, so that she could do what had to be done. 

“Thank you, old friend,” she whispered, before turning away. This time she walked with a purpose. She knew what she had to do, and she had to do it before her fellow dogs came for her. It wouldn’t be long now. 

She made her way back along Westberk Street, heading for her old lodgings in Nipcopper Close. She forced the door, then climbed the stairs into the hallway and breathed a sigh of relief. She had known she would find him here. 

“Hello, Rosto.” 

The pigeon was pure white and held itself with pride, preening its wings as it waited on the top step. 

“You came quickly. I guess you knew to look for me.” The bird regarded her disdainfully, and she almost laughed. It reminded her so much of a young Rosto, handsome and arrogant. 

Then the laughter died within her as she remembered what she had done and why she was here. “I had to find you. I - I need to hear you say it. I need you to tell the truth. Elsewise… I’ll never be able to put him to rest.” 

For a moment she wasn’t sure he would answer. She even wondered if she had the right bird, or if she was just a mad woman talking to a pigeon in a stranger’s empty house. 

Then, “I tried to tell you, Beka, but you didn’t want to hear it.” 

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t, not then. I was lost. But Hasfush helped me, so that I could hear it now. I need to know.” 

“Are you sure? I think you know already, but knowing it and hearing it are different things.” 

She drew a deep shaky breath. “I need to know. Tell me.” 

“The truth is, I love you.” 

She frowned, annoyed. “No, you looby. I want to know the truth about… about him. Who did you get to do the killing?” 

“I told you, Beka. I didn’t do it. I couldn’t. I love you.” 

“Stop that. Tell me how you dampened his magic.” 

“I didn't kill him, Beka. If I knew what had happened, I would tell you, because I love you.” 

She was getting all churned up again on the inside now. She closed her eyes and forced herself to think of Hasfush and his patience. 

“It was you, I know it was. Who else hated him? Who else would have wanted him dead?” 

“It wasn’t me.” 

“Stop lying! It had to be you, that’s why I had to… do what I did. Because if it wasn’t you, then that means I…” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. 

“It’s ok, Beka. I forgive you. You were half cracked with grief, and it makes sense that you’d think I’d done it. I’ve thought about it more than once. But I knew how it would kill you and I couldn’t.” He half laughed, the bird bobbing its head. “Never thought it would kill me.” 

She was sobbing again. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered where all these tears were coming from. She had cried so long she thought she would have none left to shed. 

“Why are you doing this? You’re dead, you’ve got nothing to lose! Just tell me you did it… Please, Rosto, tell me it was you!” 

“I can’t do that. I can take your blows and your anger and your accusations, but I can’t lie to you. I don’t want you thinking badly of me when I’m gone. I might have been a rogue and a rat, but I never killed your man.” 

“Then why are you here? Why would you come back, if it wasn’t to confess.” 

“I’m here because I love you. That’s what I came back to tell you. I never got the chance before, but you’re right. I have nothing left to lose, and I want you to hear it.” 

He paused, wondering if she would try to stop him again. When she didn’t, he went on. 

“I know you were never mine to have, but that didn't mean you weren’t mine to protect. I watched over you, Beka, as well as I could, from the first time I met you. And when that meant watching over Farmer too, I did it. I don't know how he died or who got him, but I am so sorry, Beka, that I failed to protect him.” 

She was crying again, dust spinner or no. 

“He’s gone, Rosto. How am I… What do I… what am I supposed to do?” 

The bird half flew half jumped up to her shoulder and nuzzled against her neck. She leaned in, savouring the comfort, then yelped a moment later as the bird reached up to nip her earlobe. 

“First thing’s first – you stop with all these tears. It won’t do anyone any good. Those dogs of yours will be on your tail soon, so you’d best get moving. 

“Moving? Moving where?” She shrugged, desolate, looking around at the dusty hallway. “I’ve got nowhere left to go.” 

Another peck, stronger this time. She cried “ow!” and batted him off her shoulder. 

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. If you weren’t half-cracked with grief, you’d know exactly what comes next. You do what you’ve always done, Beka, what you were made to do.” 

She looked at him blankly, too tired to think, and he caught her gaze and held it. Just for a moment, looking into those dark, serious eyes, she could have sworn he was there with her, holding her. Steeling her. 

“Tell me.” 

“You nab the rat that killed him.”


End file.
